Desire Me

by Robyn DeHart

  “Run,” Max said as he grabbed Sabine’s hand and quickly pulled her to her feet.

  Fortunately, Sabine’s long legs afforded her the ability to keep pace with him as they made their way across the grounds toward the main road. He scaled the wall, then pulled Sabine over. They ran into the woods lining the property.

  Max could hear voices behind them, but they’d had a decent head start, provided the two men didn’t chase them on horses or in a carriage. They might be able to make it to the road and then get back to their own rig.

  “Are they coming?” Sabine asked, her voice husky with exertion.

  “Yes. This way.” He pulled her along, and she made no complaints as she followed closely behind him. “Our carriage should be waiting just over this bluff.”

  The voices behind them became louder, shouts actually, and Max realized that the men had, in fact, jumped into a carriage to chase them.

  Max and Sabine burst through the trees and onto the main road, but the rocks would provide no easier terrain for them to navigate on foot. And their carriage was not there waiting. Had he gotten turned around in their escape and gone in the opposite direction? He didn’t have time to figure it all out. Perhaps he’d misjudged the distance, and their rig was farther down the road.

  “They’re getting closer,” Sabine said.

  They fled as quickly as they could, but the noise of wheels grew louder, the horses’ hooves bearing down on them as they clopped along the road. The carriage drove up beside them and pulled to a stop. But instead of the men who were chasing them, a familiar voice came from the inside.

  “Max, what a pleasant surprise. You and your friend”—the female voice stumbled over the last word—“seem to be in a pinch of trouble. Might I be of assistance?”

  “Cassandra, you have impeccable timing, as always.” Max helped Sabine into the carriage, and it rolled off into the darkness in the direction opposite the men who pursued them.

  “My country home is not far from here. I will be glad to offer you sanctuary for the night.” She smiled. “I take it you had a disagreement?” she asked, and a delicate brow arched over her right eye.

  “Minor,” Max agreed.

  “You always did have a knack for causing trouble.” Cassandra’s cool gaze fell to Sabine. “Aren’t you that girl from the shop in Piccadilly? Having to resort to peddling your wares in the country now?” she asked, doing nothing to hide her acerbic tone. Cassandra never did hesitate to show her claws when the mood struck her.

  But Sabine did not allow the insult to affect her. Instead she held her head high and gave Cassandra a luminous smile. “I am. I believe it might be time for you to purchase some more of my products.” Sabine touched her own smooth forehead, then nodded in Cassandra’s direction.

  Cassandra’s hand immediately moved to her own head to rub at the skin.

  “I’d be happy to send you a few jars to any address,” Sabine offered.

  Max wanted to laugh, but didn’t dare. It would not help matters if Cassandra scratched out Sabine’s lovely eyes.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Cassandra had graciously put them up for the night and offered a carriage for them to ride back to London in the morning. Max hoped his own driver had had the good sense to flee from the magistrate. Currently Max stared out the darkened window of his borrowed room, a glass of scotch in his hand. He still hadn’t deciphered the next riddle, but the words kept running through his mind. He wasn’t certain that Sabine believed the dagger was not the one they were looking for, but he felt certain. Whoever had hidden the dove had gone to great lengths to keep it hidden, ensuring that only those willing to seriously search might actually find it. Yet there was something about the ordeal that felt off. Perhaps Sabine’s aunts might know more about who had created this quest.

  A slight rap sounded on his door, then it creaked opened.

  “I was wondering if I’d see you tonight,” he murmured as he turned around. But instead of finding Sabine, Cassandra lingered in his doorway.

  “Cassandra,” he said, unable to keep the surprise from his voice.

  “Were you expecting someone else?” she purred.

  He gave her no answer.

  Dressed head to toe in some silk confection the color of blood, it left little to his imagination. But then he didn’t need to speculate when it came to Cassandra. He knew her body, knew every contour, even though the last time he’d touched her, they’d both been younger. They’d had an affair nearly ten years before that had lasted for about eight months. He’d almost fancied himself in love with the blonde beauty, but then he’d found her in bed with another man. A man she’d claimed was a servant. It had been the last time Max had kept a woman in his bed for any length of time.

  “Quite fortunate I came upon the two of you this evening,” she said. His bedchamber door shut behind her.

  “Indeed. We appreciate your assistance.” Her rescue was timely and most convenient, though Max knew he would have been able to get them to safety one way or another. Still, it was nice to know Sabine was safe, and they had comfortable beds for the night.

  Cassandra closed the distance between them, then took hold of his glass and slowly sipped some of the contents, her icy blue eyes never leaving his own. “What is this thing between you and that woman? Is she your new lover?” She did her best to sound nonchalant, but Max knew better. There were no sentimental feelings involved, but were it up to Cassandra, no other woman would have Max. She was just that kind of woman. Possessive even of the things that were no longer hers.

  For a moment, he considered lying, telling her that Sabine was his mistress, but that would only serve to anger Cassandra. There was no need to add fuel to that fire. “No. She hired me to assist her with a certain matter.”

  “Oh, I see.” She set the glass down, then proceeded to deftly unbutton his shirt. “You are a man for hire now, are you?”

  “Cassandra,” he protested.

  “Relax. No one has to know.” She leaned in and pressed wet kisses on his chest. “Remember how it was between us, Max? How passionate and hot we were together?”

  It was difficult to forget. Not the passion, per se, but Cassandra in general. She was no shy violet, hiding in the shadows hoping a man would notice her. No, she demanded attention, and she got it. Plenty of it. He remembered mostly how she’d flirted with other men, shamelessly, then insisted they meant nothing to her. He’d been young and foolish, but he’d never make that mistake again.

  “One more night together. To reminisce about how it used to be,” she said.

  He grabbed her wrists to still her hands before they unfastened his trousers.

  Her eyes flashed, and a wicked grin spread. “You want to play a little rough tonight?”

  “No,” he said flatly.

  “I don’t understand,” she said. She pressed her body against him, and her plush curves melded against his frame. He didn’t want to respond, but he’d have dared a man of the cloth not to have a reaction to her bold invitation. Still, it mattered not if his body stirred at her touch; he did not desire her.

  “Cassandra, have you so easily forgotten our past?” Still he held her wrists firmly. “I told you never again.”

  She gave him her best pout, her perfectly painted lips pursed outward. She looked up at him through her lashes. “You still haven’t forgiven me for one tiny indiscretion?”

  He chuckled. “I suspect he was not the only one, simply the man I caught you with,” he said. “And it has nothing to do with forgiveness.”

  She shrugged casually, but there was never anything casual about Cassandra. She did not like being told no. “Perhaps. I am a woman with a voracious appetite for pleasures of the flesh,” she said tartly. “I cannot help it if one man is not enough to satisfy me.”

  “Classic Cassandra.” Max smiled. “If you do not get your way, it is better to insult the other party rather than graciously accept defeat.”

  One delicate eyebrow arched. “Defeat? How am
I defeated? I do not need you, Max. I have men all over London waiting for an invitation to my bed. I only thought you might want to remember what it was like to be with a real woman. Not that waif you’re with now. Rather plain-looking, don’t you agree?” She inspected her nails, but Max could see a rise of color up her pale throat. Cassandra was angry.

  “Actually, I find Sabine rather beautiful, exotic even,” Max said. He could have said those words simply to further annoy Cassandra, but he’d meant every word. To him, there was no greater beauty than Sabine. And Cassandra could see it, too. Everyone could. Sabine was ethereal. The Mona Lisa come to life, with her olive complexion and a face that could have been carved by the gods themselves.

  “Age has done nothing to hone your taste in women, Max,” Cassandra said bitterly. “You could have had me tonight.” She looked at him meaningfully, allowing her eyes to travel the length of his body. “Your carriage will be ready first thing in the morning. Before breakfast,” she added.

  “Thank you, Cassandra.”

  Sabine stood still as Cassandra stepped out of Max’s room, flowing red lingerie her only covering. The woman gave Sabine a wicked smile, then wiped the corners of her mouth.

  “He’s all yours,” she purred as she walked past.

  Sabine turned to go, but Max must have heard the brief exchange, because he opened the door. “Wait,” he said. “That was not what it looked like.”

  Sabine stiffened. She turned to watch Cassandra turn the corner at the end of the hall. “It matters not to me who you have relations with. I’ve made no claim on you, nor do I want one.” She knew her tone was rude, but she did nothing to soften it. A line from Shakespeare’s Hamlet floated through her mind: “The lady doth protest too much.”

  He sighed, and for a brief moment weariness settled in his eyes, but then it was gone. “Did you need something?” he asked.

  “I wanted to further discuss the dagger.”

  “I expected you would. Come in,” he said.

  She tried not to notice how his shirt was completely opened to reveal that chest of his. She’d seen it before, but still the taut muscles left her mouth dry and her mind blank. Once they were closed in his room, she said nothing.

  She turned and found herself looking straight at the large four-poster bed. It was still made, not even a pillow out of place. There were no pieces of clothing dropped on the floor as if forgotten in the rush of passion. Perhaps he’d been telling her the truth. Sabine had certainly seen enough to know that Cassandra was a woman used to getting what she wanted. It seemed of late, the woman wanted Max. Well, Sabine would certainly not stand in the way.

  “Sabine,” he said, his breath hot on her neck as he stood too close behind her. “I didn’t touch her.”

  “I told you I do not care,” she bit out. But she couldn’t ignore the thrill that swept through her at his admission.

  He turned her around to face him. “It matters to me. Damned if I know why, but it does. I won’t lie and say I don’t have a past with Cassandra, but she means nothing to me. And hasn’t for a very long time.”

  Did that imply that she herself meant something to him? “Max, you and me, we’re not together,” she said again.

  “From the moment I first laid eyes on you, I’ve wanted nothing more than to strip every piece of clothing off your perfect body and spend hours laving kisses across your flesh.” His crystal-blue eyes never wavered from her own. “That night on the train was too hurried. And you stopped me in the inn, but I know you didn’t want to.”

  Why did she crave him so intensely? What was it about him that captivated her so?

  “This is highly improper,” she said, wishing she had a cloak about her to pull close around her. Instead she hugged her arms to her body. She was weak when it came to Max. Give her one tiny taste, and she wanted the entire plate. She didn’t want to want him. She didn’t want to need any man, but damned if this one didn’t pull at her as the moon pulled the tide.

  “I know you want me, too,” he said, his voice no more than a whisper.

  She bristled. “You know no such thing.” Evidently she had not done as good a job as she’d thought of keeping her desire a secret.

  “You can deny it, if you choose, but I know the truth.” He passed behind her, his breath ruffling through her hair. “You want me.”

  “Stop that.” She swatted at him as she turned and put distance between them.

  “You won’t be able to fight it forever. Eventually this sort of desire always”—he paused, letting his eyes slowly move down her body—“combusts.”

  “Clearly you have far more experience in this sort of thing than I do, but I can assure you I do not feel as if I’m going to combust. Quite the contrary.”

  “So when I grab you this way and pull you to me”—he did as he said, pressing the length of her body against his own—“you feel nothing?”

  She swallowed slowly. “Correct.”

  “And there is no rise in your temperature when I do this?” His hand lifted her slightly by squeezing her bottom, then he nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck. The day’s growth of beard scraped tantalizingly against her collarbone as he took small heated nips along the tender flesh.

  “Nothing at all,” she lied.

  “I see.” He placed both hands on the sides of her face, then leaned in and kissed her. Not any kiss, but a kiss intended to imprint itself on a human soul, so tender, so full of yearning, she could not help but cry out. The sound was muffled by his mouth’s covering. His tongue slid against her bottom lip, and she opened to him, and lost were her protests as she melted against his body.

  Good gracious, but Max was a good kisser.

  His hands kept her in place, but she was in no rush to move. Not yet. She could endure a little more.

  Then he was done, pulling back from her with small kisses directly on her lips. Achingly sweet.

  “And now?” he murmured.

  She swallowed and kept her eyes closed, but managed to say, “Nothing.”

  “As I expected,” he said.

  She opened her eyes to find him grinning ruthlessly at her.

  One eyebrow cocked. “Nothing?” he repeated. She took in the length of him, standing there with his shirt open and that wolfish grin. Not nothing, but everything. When he touched her, the world stilled and only the sensations gave her breath.

  She so wanted this. Wanted him.

  Without another thought, she crossed to him and kissed him. She yanked his shirt off his arms and ran her hands over his torso, touching every hard, sinewy line on his chest. She couldn’t deny her desire for him any longer. She simply wouldn’t.

  Impatiently she unfastened his trousers. Her body positively hummed with lust. Everywhere he touched, fire lit under her skin and blazed through her. Her nipples peaked. She was wet for him, wet and simply aching for his touch. For him to be inside her.

  He stilled her hand and met her eyes. “Sabine, I can’t offer you anything more.”

  His words tugged at her heart, but she ignored them. He couldn’t offer, and she wouldn’t ask. “I don’t need anything else.”

  She finished undressing him until he stood before her as God had made him. So handsome, so rugged, so perfect. She wanted to touch him everywhere. She stepped away from him, but not far, and quickly removed her own clothing. Max’s eyes trailed the length of her naked body, his blue eyes turning the color of warm steel.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he said, his voice raw with desire. He grabbed her hand and pulled her back to him so that their bodies pressed together. Flesh upon flesh.

  His hands cupped her bottom, pressing her to him, pressing her into his erection.

  She kissed him again, and this time he picked her up. Cradling her as he carried her to the oversized bed, he didn’t even pull the coverlet back; instead he simply laid her on the velvety softness. She wrapped her legs around his waist, encouraging him to get closer, to lose himself inside her.

  It was all the enco
uragement he needed. With slow and steady movements, he entered her. The fullness of him felt so right, so exactly what she needed, what she craved.

  His movements were deep and sensual, and her climax began to build almost immediately. Swifter and swifter, she climbed until she couldn’t hold it any longer, and the world seemed to shatter in a million glassy fragments all around her. She clung to his shoulders as the pleasures rocked her, and she was vaguely aware of his own climax as his abdomen tightened against her.

  She lay sleeping, curled against his side, her breathing slow and even. Sabine was a passionate woman. It had been good on the train, but damn, that had been explosive and powerful. He caught sight of the small vial glistening between her breasts.

  She had proof of Atlantis, and he’d seen it work. Twice now. She had it on that necklace she wore.

  His gunshot wound had healed faster than some shaving cuts he’d endured, and then after his injury in the bathhouse, she’d poured the elixir directly onto his wound, and it had healed almost instantly.

  Marcus would be able to tell there was something unique about it. It would be the necessary proof Max needed to borrow Marcus’s submersible boat. Then he would be able to locate the lost continent and see it for himself.

  Max’s family was long dead and buried. That was a reality he’d accepted long ago. Only in his most maudlin moments did he let himself linger over regrets. His family would never know what he’d accomplished. They could never enjoy his success or acknowledge his achievements. It was the most bitter reminder of how solitary his position in the world was. Of course, he would always have the men of Solomon’s, men who could appreciate his success as intellectual equals.

  And he would have Sabine in his bed. That would be enough for her and for him. It would have to be, because he could not give her his heart.

  The following morning as they rode back into London, Sabine wanted to make certain they concentrated on the task at hand, that they didn’t get distracted by their night of lovemaking. He’d taken her a second time before they’d fallen into a deep sleep. When they’d awakened, it was to find their hostess had already left the house, but had readied a carriage for them as she’d promised.